


Physical Therapy

by neverminetohold



Category: Metal Gear, Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Ignores True Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Injury Recovery, M/M, Missing Scene, Physical Therapy, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the damn horse fell in love with the legend...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical Therapy

Ocelot shifted his weight and leaned back in the saddle as his horse carefully picked its way downhill. All things considered, they were making good time.  
  
The landscape of Afghanistan stretched before them, all bleached plains of heated sand with sparse vegetation and bare rocky ridges, while the Hindu Kush mountains loomed as blurred shapes at the very edge of the horizon. The sun burned down from a clear blue sky, crossed here and there by flocks of cawing crows.  
  
Ocelot rubbed the bridge of his nose. The skin there was angry red and peeling, the rest of him sweaty and caked with dust. He smiled faintly, guiding his horse back on track.  
  
He really shouldn't be enjoying what was a time-sensitive rescue mission. But it wasn't as if he could have prevented Miller's capture and subsequent torture at the Soviets' hands. That being fact, he couldn't help himself.  
  
He had waited nine long years. Had been caught between running interference, preparing the ground for Diamond Dogs, and sitting at the side of a hospital bed, knowing that all he did and hoped for would amount to nothing if Snake never woke from his coma. - But now here they were, living the 'Wild West' dream in Afghanistan, evading Soviet outposts and patrols on horseback by day and fucking besides the camp fire at night.  
  
His secret wish granted - except not quite.  
  
Having developed a certain routine, Ocelot reached over to steady Snake, keeping him from slipping sideways and ending up sprawled on the ground; he was fast asleep and snoring faintly.  
  
They rode close enough now that their knees brushed on occasion, but Ocelot had broken the gelding and his own mare in well - neither horse shied or began to buck. Even better, despite the slack reins and lack of all other aids, the white's ears flicked back and forth in step with its attention, as it actively tried to keep its rider in the saddle.  
  
Ocelot gave the bony shoulder one last gentle squeeze, then let go for the time being. Pebbles skittered down a slope up ahead, but it was only a tiny, furry shape darting away, rustling dead grass. - Most likely a gerbil. Harmless, and roasted more tasty than rat, according to Snake, who had caught one at the earliest opportunity.  
  
Ocelot kept sweeping the area for any signs of a threat, keenly aware that it was up to him to keep them both safe and under the radar.  
  
Waiting took its toll, all right, but so did being in a coma. It wasn't the kind of thing anyone could hope to just shrug off, and John, his survival a miracle in and of itself, had barely been able to stand after their escape from the hospital. - They were on a tight schedule by necessity, but that didn't mean that Ocelot didn't regret having to push him so hard.  
  
The drugs he had procured on the Soviet black market had helped Snake regain lost muscle mass. Riding itself was a form of physical therapy, neuromuscular stimulation at its finest. Each stride of the horse shifted the riders center of balance, forcing him to adjust.  
  
No wonder that Snake was worn around the edges, nodding off in the saddle, and that 'fucking besides the camp fire' mostly meant that Ocelot had to be creative, earning himself a medal for 'distinguished services'.  
  
Perhaps one hour later, Snake inhaled sharply and switched seamlessly back to being alert, taking the reins up and patting the white's neck with a mutter of praise. The gelding snorted softly, head and tail held high, only training keeping it from prancing. - Of course even the damn horse would fall in love with the legend.  
  
Ocelot half-turned in the saddle, lifting one eyebrow. "Done being a passenger?"  
  
John shrugged, not in the habit of making excuses. "How long was I out?"  
  
"Long enough to get yourself killed," Ocelot answered mildly.  
  
There was really no need to point out the obvious, but he did it anyway, for the record. They both knew that Snake would have never allowed himself to fall asleep like that without someone around he trusted to have his back.  
  
"So wake me next time."  
  
"I'm not that much of a heartless bastard."  
  
John chuckled and took off in an abrupt lope, leaving behind trail dust and the impression of words Ocelot wasn't quite sure he had really heard: "You really aren't, Adam."  
  
And wasn't that forever worth chasing after?


End file.
